


45 RPM (B-Sides)

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Possibly one of those PWP things without porn, Songfic, also ~couples~ are just there because that's what i have planned and they're subject to change, drabble collection basically tbh, im trying to get rid of writer's block tbh, well vaguely - songs used as inspo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: A collection of songfics using various songs from MTV Unplugged Sessions.Latest chapter: [Xavi & Andrés] -  Me Voy (Interlude)





	1. [Xavi/Andrés] Prometiste (MTV Unplugged 2014) – Pepe Aguilar

**Author's Note:**

> I really encourage everyone to listen to the songs, especially since some are upbeat with sad lyrics. Like I wrote some of these fics with more than the lyrics in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'm the first to admit that [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMi4QmNHSDg) is more of an Victor/Andrés tune, but I used it for inspiration! (lyric translation in end notes)
> 
> To know about this chapter: non-linear timeline (and should probably have been "Andres Iniesta & Xavi Hernandez," honestly, but y'know) also my first time really trying to write purposely write really angsty angst, but I feel like I lost the plot along the way
> 
> (unbeta'd!)

 

 

 _Porque yo, si bien me he equivocado_  
_tenía la certeza que mi sitio era a tu lado_  
_y hasta hoy así cumplí._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he mentioned it, it was a joke.

 

“You took another Balón d’Or from me?” He tutted, though his grin betrayed the pride he felt towards the victor. “Maybe I should just leave Barça or retire.”

 

Lio grinned, sharing a glance with Andrés, eyes filled with mirth. “Don't worry, Xavi. I'll let you win the next one.”

 

Andrés laughed. “Maybe he will, but I won't!”

 

 

*

 

 

“What if I follow him out?”

 

“You won't.”

 

“Thiago can stay and I'll-”

 

“-be unhappy for the rest of your life.”

 

Xavi shot him a dark look to which Andrés responded with a shrug. “Pep’s taking a break and who knows what he'll do next. What if he coaches a team that we'll have to face in Champion’s League?”

 

“And I was supposed to be the pessimist,” Xavi muttered to himself, dropping his gaze. “I’ll miss him, I think,” he admitted in a small voice, sounding more vulnerable than Andrés had heard him be in a while.

 

Pep Guardiola was on the verge of creating a dynasty, something unheard of in Barcelona. Something even Johan couldn't achieve; the next Alex Ferguson.

 

“Me too.” Andrés agreed, he'd miss Pep more than he would like to admit.

 

But some things weren’t meant to be.

 

 

*

 

 

Andrés had to admire the universe’s sense of order.

 

Maybe it was a touch ironic, the cyclical order of things. Yet, Andrés couldn’t picture himself going through this any other way. He tapped his knuckles against the doorframe, carefully standing behind the threshold of the open door.

 

Luis Enrique didn’t look away from his computer screen. “Andrés, please sit.”  

 

Luis hadn’t unpacked. There was a slightly wilted succulent at the edge of the desk that had seen better days. Martino apparently never had the time to take care of the plant, but it warmed Andrés’ heart, just the same, to see that Luis Enrique had adopted it - if the moist soil on the surface of the pot was anything to go by. Well, anything seemed like good news nowadays, even Victor’s recent cryptic text message that only involved only the word “OASIS." (Not that he needed to think of an excuse to make Andrés visit him.)   

 

“So, _capità_.” Luis Enrique began, shutting his laptop with a definitive snap.  “We need to talk.”

 

 

*

 

 

One of the first lessons players learn is not to hold onto illusions of forever, pipe dreams that held promises of eternal glory.

 

Legends might never die, but they had to work to get there.

 

 

*

 

 

“I don’t know.” Xavi sighed, frowning at his locker as he tossed a loose sneaker aside. “It’s kinda like the Wizard of Oz, y’know? I feel like Dorothy. ‘There’s no place like home,’ and— it’s not like Barça’s Kansas, it’s not dull or anything,” he defended in a rush, already having grown used to defending the team’s subpar performances against hungry journalists. It was almost a reflex now, to make amends for what could have sounded like an insult towards Martino’s team. “And I’m not saying that Pep was Barça. He wasn’t. I— I want to retire here,” he repeated, though the words sounded empty, a mindless echo of what once used to be an undebatable fact. “Maybe, I’ll just be the Tin Man for the rest of my career, a man without a heart.”

 

Andrés couldn't bring himself to feel any sympathy.

 

“Yeah, well,” Andrés huffed before he slammed his own locker door shut, cheeks flushing with anger. “I think you’ll be the Scarecrow,” he continued, adjusting his duffle bag with tense, jerky movements, avoiding Xavi’s gaze. “Without a brain.”

 

Victor was injured.

 

Puyi was injured.

 

And Xavi-

 

Xavi had no excuse.

 

Andrés walked out of the locker room without looking back.

 

 

*

 

 

Masche’s soft, slurred Spanish alerted Andrés to a familiar presence in the dressing room.

 

“Why is he here?” Came from Andrés’ side, but, unsurprisingly, the scorn was directed to their photographer.

 

“This win’s a big deal, míster,” Andrés’ teased, his grin growing wider at Lucho’s annoyance.

 

Lucho rolled his eyes, though his smirk betrayed his good mood. “Let’s win the Champion’s League, and then we’ll talk.”

 

A similar phrase was uttered behind them, slightly mocking, though it was mainly the speaker that caught their attention.

 

“Sorry to rain on your parade, Pep, but we have to win this treble for Xavi.”

 

Cue a surprised half-choking sound from the aforementioned midfielder followed by an exaggerated pout. “I thought you said the only reason you kept me around was because you wanted me to win the treble for you.”

 

“With you, for you,” Lucho mused while he walked towards Pep, wrapping him in a one-armed embrace that Pep easily leaned in to. “Because of you. It’s all the same since we’re gonna win it.”

 

“You still have the away leg, Lucho.” Pep cut in not too lightly, but Lucho didn’t seem to be paying attention. He was trying to dance his way around the photographer’s wandering camera lens to make a quick exit.

 

“I have to win it Pep, it’s in my contract. And _I’m_ not sorry to rain on your parade.”

 

“We still have the away leg,” Masche joked though he quickly amended with “but we’ll win that one too.” Blind faith seemed to be contagious.

 

Andrés smiled to himself. Maybe Xavi would be around to win them the next treble, too.

 

 

*

 

 

 

Andrés felt like his heart was going to burst, to shatter into hundreds and thousands of pieces like the confetti swirling in the air.

 

 _Blaugrana,_ for the whole stadium to see.

 

He shared a look with Xavi, grinning, unashamed.

 

  _Blaugrana_ , all of Berlin could see.

 

 

*

 

 

It wasn’t just another substitution; it was his last one.

 

Xavi’s last stand at the Camp Nou, the last steps he would take on the pitch as their player.

 

Andrés kissed Xavi’s cheek, murmuring well-wishes while trying to ignore the tears shining in his eyes. The words fall short, a _gracias por todo_ would never be enough, nor _eres un grande_ , nor _te quiero._

 

 _“Listen, that’s all for you.”_ Andrés saw Xavi’s heart in the stadium, thousands of pieces filling the air, in the stands, in the cheers.

 

 _Blaugrana,_ like everyone knew it would be.

 

 

*

 

 

They were walking back from their last training silence until—

 

“ _Oye_ , crack. Can I have your jersey?” Xavi’s joke falls short, his voice breaking on the last word.

 

Andrés shook his head, lips twitching into a traitorous smile. He felt a hole growing in his chest.

 

 And yet, he could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady.

 

Unbroken.

 

Andrés’ voice wavered. “Only if I can have yours.”

 

 

*

 

 

They lifted up the last trophy together and the unspoken message is loud enough for everyone to hear.

 

He shared a look with Xavi, smiling. Xavi smiled back, the lines around his eyes deepening.

 

_Theirs._

 

The treble was theirs.

 

 

*

 

 

Legends had to leave to be remembered.

 

 

*

 

 

This was the third time Andrés had walked down the hall in the last ten minutes. He worried his lip, studying the stark white walls in hopes that they would have an answer.

 

“Iniesta?” A voice startled him out of his thoughts, oddly enough, coupled with the sound of rushing water – thankfully. He had been two seconds away from letting out a loud, embarrassing guttural groan of frustration.

 

Andrés turned to see a familiar figure bent over the water fountain, already dressed to train.

 

“I’m looking for the locker room.” His voice rang out clear in the empty hallway. There was no shame in asking for help.

 

“I thought so.” Luis Enrique sounded amused, and, to his own credit, Andrés didn’t shrink away when Luis approached him.

 

Luis used the back of his hand to wipe away some of the water that had gathered above his lip in a weak attempt to disguise the appraising look he directed towards Andrés. “Well, at least you know where the water fountain is.” Luis grinned, though it probably came out a little more predatory that he had hoped. “C’mon, you’re late.”

 

Andrés had to rush to keep up with Luis Enrique’s long strides. He stumbled over his feet after every turn while he fruitlessly tried to memorize the path they were taking. Much to Andrés’ chagrin, they managed to reach the doors sooner than he expected. Luis Enrique opened the door, but signaled for Andrés to go in first. “Don’t worry,” Luis’ said in a low voice while Andrés ducked under his arm. “you’ll have time to memorize the way here, later.”

 

A small, disbelieving smile threatened to creep onto Andrés’ face at Luis Enrique’s matter-of-fact statement. It’s not like chances to train with the first team were offered every single day.

 

“Andrés was lost.” Luis Enrique called out, annoyed, causing Andrés’ cheeks to heat up in embarrassment.

 

Pep whirled around at the Luis’ yell. The glare he gave Luis Enrique quickly melted into a thinly disguised calculating look when he turned to face Andrés.

 

 _“Benvingut,”_ Pep smiled warmly, his scrutiny dimming into an interested glimmer. A firm hand wound its way across Andrés’ shoulders, gently leading him into a corner of the room.

 

_“Xavi—”_

 

Xavi’s head jerked up from where he was trying his shoelaces. After shaking his head to remove a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes in his haste, wide eyes deeper than Pep’s met Andrés’, obviously still a bit star struck about being called up to the first team.

 

Pep gently pushed Andrés down into the empty spot next to Xavi.

 

“—Take care of him.”

 

 

*

 

 

Andrés kept on passing into empty space during training.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Pero a ti se te olvido que prometiste_  
_que nunca me dejarías_  
_que sin mí no había razón para seguir viviendo, no._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that explaining a joke makes it not funny anymore, but I really hope that the last sentence translates to Andres' first training without Xavi - im trying to figure out a way to say that in not so many words
> 
> I hate Spanish google because I can't find links anymore (If anyone can find links, please send me, the history major in me is screaming). Anyways, everything was dramatized but ya know ~creative liberties~
> 
> \- Andres did really get lost when he got called up to the first team and Lucho was the one that found him (EDIT: found [the article](http://www.fourfourtwo.com/my/features/luis-enrique-id-manage-england-my-wife-wouldnt-weather). I should have reread it before I wrote this, but, oh well, the deed is done. I will write about this moment in other fics, just warning you all.). Also, don't quote me, but I'm pretty sure Pep did tell Xavi to "take care of Andres."  
> \- There's a picture of Xavi, Masche, and Pep talking after the Bayern v Barça game - that's what I based the convo on.  
> \- [For me, Barça is unconditional](http://thierrieshenries.tumblr.com/post/92565384108/xavi-550-2011)  
> \- [They weren't crying, we were.](http://grup14.tumblr.com/post/120641009246/sometimes-without-even-looking-at-him-i-know)  
> \- Also there's a video where Lucho says he has "blind faith" in his players (he was referring to the Barra B squad he was coaching at the time since he believed - "had to believe" that they could beat the first team)
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations:**  
>  _Porque yo, si bien me he equivocado, // tenía la certeza que mi sitio era a tu lado // y hasta hoy así cumplí._  
>  Because I, even though I've been mistaken // I was certain that my place was at your side // and until today [something] I fulfilled.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Pero a ti se te olvido que prometiste // que nunca me dejarias // que sin mí no había razón para seguir viviendo, no._  
>  But you have forgotten that you promised // that you would never leave me // that without me there wasn't a reason to keep on living, no.


	2. [Villa/Messi] Inevitable (MTV Unplugged 2000) – Shakira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this version of "Inevitable"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_oBpmiJ7tc) and this video has English subtitles! I'll still include the translations, taken from here, in the end notes. (The translations are mostly accurate, the only bit that I’ve seen – sorry I don’t really pay attention to music videos so there might be more mistakes – is the _siempre supe que es mejor // cuando hay que hablar de dos // empezar por uno mismo_ because I’d translate that as _I always knew that it’s better // when you have to talk about two // to start with one’s self_ not _to be on your own_ , but I might be wrong!)
> 
> Things to note:  
> \- Super Frank retired! So, the timeline is a little vague, if not slightly AU, but let me have this, lol. (just a slight mention of him, tbh.)  
> \- Also, the fic doesn't have much to do with the song, just the bittersweet feeling it gives, me thinks.  
> \- RJ = RJ Allen

 

 

 _Y, para ser más franca,_  
_nadie piensa en ti_  
_como lo hago yo,_  
_aunque te dé lo mismo._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cristiano Ronaldo peered down at him in Times Square.

 

His fifty-foot bust is a little pixelated, but, like always, dressed to the nines in the trendiest sportswear.  He wiggles his eyebrows a few times before fading into the _Nike_ logo.

 

Villa thinks it’s a little weird.

 

Then again, Times Square has always been slightly off, a place teetering between reality and a surrealist fantasy – not too unlike the dreams Villa has when he’s sick.

 

Impossibly, the situation gets even more unnerving when the logo dematerializes to reveal an equally larger than life Neymar, who starts making faces at him.

 

Definitely not like the dreams Villa has when he’s asleep.

 

Still, the combination of the two superstars tickles something in the back of his mind.

 

Something is… _missing._

 

He stared at the billboard long enough that a new advertisement pops up before _Nike’s_ goes through its cycle again, and Neymar’s just about to stick his tongue out when it hits him.

 

 _Someone_ was missing.

 

Villa chuckles to himself and whips out his phone before he can talk himself out of it. Good thing, too. The board was glitching, thankfully, allowing him to take a picture of a half-Neymar half-Cristiano hybrid before it fades to black and moves on to David Beckham flexing in his _H &M_ underwear.

 

_> > Why aren’t you on one of these?_

 

He sends the message even though he’s not expecting an answer.

 

He doesn’t mind. Much.

 

He texts Lamps and Pirlo every day – their group chat is filled with memes in three different languages.

 

He was currently texting Iker, even though Iker kept on trying to change the topic of their conversation by asking Villa for fat-free desert recipes. _NY has a lot of hipsters, doesnt it?_ As to be expected - Villa kept on trying to convince him to join the MLS. They both weren’t getting very far in their respective goals, but Villa likes to think that he’s winning. Iker; actually asked how his training was going, for once, yesterday.  

 

Villa even texts Xavi once in a while, both pretty steadily keeping up with Whatsapp, not as much as Iker, but still.

 

He even talked to Ricky about Game of Thrones, it’s what they bonded over in their previous All-Star Game,

 

And, Messi–

 

The new signings always asked about him, and the press wasn’t shy to ask, either. Villa’s replies always stayed the same.

 

And, well—

 

They talked.

 

_> > Do u still have Netflix?_

_> > yeah, why_

_> > Kun wanted me to watch something_

_> > Can i use ur account?_

_> > yeah. I never changed the password_

 

Well, at least he knew that Leo still hadn’t gotten an account.

 

Unless, that had changed in the last four months.

 

Villa’s phone buzzed.

 

The groupchat.

 

_> > Here._

_> > I’m OMW._

 

_> > I’m gonna order for you two, if you don’t get here soon._

 

Villa smiled at the texts before he typed out his reply.

 

_> > calma, Frankie. Im 2 blocks away._

_> > Andrea you want the usual right_

 

*

 

A strange noise wakes him up in the middle of the night.

 

It doesn't sound like his phone, but Villa picks it up off the nightstand, anyways, and lets out a groan when his bright blue screen blinds him.

 

“What the fuck,” Villa mumbles, though his annoyance quickly turned into surprise once the name on the screen came into focus.

 

He turns on his bedside lamp in order to reread the name. It stayed the same.

 

Maybe it was an accident.

 

His phone kept on ringing.

 

Maybe it wasn’t.

 

He pressed the green button.

 

“Leo,” Villa croaks. He probably looks like death, blearily gazing at the screen, hair sticking up everywhere. His vanity makes him rethink answering the call until he takes in the man on the other side of the screen.

 

It looked like Leo just got out of the shower, his shoulders still dripping with water, a slight flush covering his skin. He had his toothbrush in his hand.

 

 _“Did I wake you up?”_ Leo blurts out, brows furrowing in concern. “Fuck, David. I’m sorry, I should have— I’ll—”

 

Villa tries to ignore the familiar warmth spreading in his chest at the sound of Leo’s voice. “What’s up?” He interjects, harsher than he expected. Villa clears his throat before continuing in a softer tone. “Did you need something?”

 

“I—I—” Leo stammers, raking his hand through his hair, making it stand up more than usual. “I just saw your message. I thought you wanted to talk.” He sighs. “I wanted to talk.”

 

Villa lets out a hum. “Well, let’s talk. What are you up to?” It’s obvious that Leo was getting ready to go somewhere, unless Leo usually Skypes people from his bathroom.

 

Villa feels his lips curling into a fond smile; Leo still has the same curtains.

 

 _Geri gave them to me after he came back_.

 

“I can call back later.”

 

“No, honestly.” Villa rolls over onto his side, pillowing his head under his arm. “I have nowhere to be.”

 

Leo still looks a bit skeptical, but takes his exasperated _“Leo”_ as encouragement to prop his phone against something on his counter.

 

“Tell me about your day while I brush my teeth?”

 

“I can do that,” Villa agrees and launches into an abbreviated, but dramatized rendition of the day’s events. He’s about describe when Lamps and Pirlo almost got hit by the subway doors when Leo spits out his toothpaste and gets some on his beard. His extremely long beard.    

 

“—Jesus, you should shave.”

 

Leo glares at him, but the effect’s ruined when he spits out his water and misses the sink. “Look who’s talking,” he shoots back after hastily cleaning up the counter with his hand towel. “Your go to look is a soul patch.”

 

“I look hot, you look like—” Villa frowns “Well, I don’t know what you look like, but it doesn’t look good.”

 

Leo grumbles while he dries his face, thankfully, wiping away the toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.

 

Admittedly, the beard doesn’t look that bad, it just makes Villa feel old. He remembers the Leo with the long hair and wouldn’t look at anyone on the pitch except the ball. The Leo that took his breath away in their first training and laughed it off afterwards. The Leo who made Villa fall a little bit in love with his smile, dimples and all.

 

“Seriously, the rest of you is hairless and then there’s that. It’ red, too. It makes no sense.” Well, mostly hairless. Villa could attest to that. 

 

Leo shrugs before picking up his phone, giving Villa a closer view of his facial hair. “You’re just jealous.”

 

Villa scoffs, “Sure, whatever.”

 

They’re quiet for a while and Villa almost thinks that Leo’s going to hang up on him, if it wasn’t for the fact that it looked like Leo didn’t want to leave, either.

 

“You’re going to help me pick out my clothes.”

 

“Okay, _little dictator_.”

 

Villa manages see Leo’s pout through all the bouncing the screen was doing while he walked. “David, don’t call me that.”

 

“Little dick, th—”

 

 

*

 

Villa manages to convince Leo to keep talking to him while he drove through training.  _You probably have an unlimited data plan. Seriously, how much do you get paid again?_ And, surprisingly, Leo also promises to text him when he gets out.

 

“I might answer late because of training.”

 

Leo freezes, slowly reclining from where he leaned forward to take his keys out of the ignition. “David, what time is it over there?”

 

“Don’t be late. You don’t want to make Luis Enrique angry.”

 

Leo’s scowling when he says his goodbyes, but at least when he says _Talk to you later_ , this time, Villa knows he means it.

 

It’s ass o’clock when he finally gets to bed, but it was worth it.

 

*

 

RJ nutmegs him twice before their break and Viera keeps on sending concerned looks his way.

 

Villa hadn’t managed to score any goals for his team, but when he checks his phone during lunch and sees that he’s got three messages reminds him what it was all for.

 

The first message is just a frowny face. The second, a screenshot showing the time difference between Spain and New York. And the third:

_> > You should have told me. _

Villa grins.

 

_> > Call me in 2 hours?_

_> > I’m still ):< at you_

_> > but okay_

Still worth it, Villa thinks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _No encuentro forma alguna de olvidarte porque_  
_seguir amándote_  
_es inevitable._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Messilla is a pretty good ship, if you ask me. [Just look at them.](http://media4.fcbarcelona.com/media/asset_publics/resources/000/045/708/size_640x360/2013-03-17_FCB_-_RAYO_VALLECANO_004.v1363554289.jpg)  
> \- The billboard is based off an ad I saw IRL in times square. I was dumb and didn't let my sister take a photo of me under Cristiano. THe next time I saw it, like the next day or hours, idk, Ney was on it
> 
> OK, so, I couldn't do an MTV Unplugged themed ~fic collection~ without including Shakira. Shak writes really intense songs (Seriously, [she's lip-syncing Tú, here,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iy0j8-UJkPs) and, yeah.) But her Unplugged session was bomb because [mariachi renditions of songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqrNWJdFa8o) and [even reggae ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZD8U5n94ok). _¿Dónde están los ladrones?_ is just a good album, overall, tbh.
> 
>  **Translations:**
> 
> _Y para ser más franca, // nadie piensa en ti // como lo hago yo, // aunque te dé lo mismo._  
>   
>  And to be more frank, // no one thinks of you // the way I do, // even if it's all the same to you.
> 
>  _No encuentro forma alguna de olvidarte porque // seguir amándote // es inevitable._  
>   
>  I can't find a way to forget you because // to keep loving you // is inevitable.


	3. [Xavi & Andrés] -  Me Voy (Interlude) // (MTV Unplugged 2000) – Julieta Venegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call between Xavi & Andrés.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to be writing this. Just a short thing of me working through my feelings, nothing to see here. I wanted to write something longer, but also did not want to force it, you know? I probably will at some point in the future.  
> [Title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HQR8Yt5EFE) with English translations of the lyrics that are difficult to directly translate English imo (bc a "despedida" is the same thing as a "salutation" for hello, but for saying good-bye, if that makes any sense? Any way the song is literally titled "I'm going/I'm leaving" so)

 

 

_Que lastima pero adiós_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m leaving.”

  
It’s not often that Xavi’s stunned into silence, yet Andrés can’t bring himself to enjoy the moment.

 

Through the sound of his heartbeat ringing through his ears, Andrés can barely hear Xavi’s breathing through the receiver, a discordant counter tempo to his own racing heart.   

 

 _“Well—”_ Xavi starts, then stops, hesitant. Andrés can almost picture him: Xavi staring down at his tiled kitchen floor his brows raised, almost as if he was waiting for an answer. His lips twitch in grim amusement. _“Can’t say I was expecting this.”_

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to leave either,” Andrés counters, dry and biting.

 

_“I mean, I ho—“_

 

All semblance of amusement slides off Andres’ face in an instant. “Hoped I’d be a one club man, huh?” Maybe it’s harsher than he expected. Maybe his icy tone is angrier than he’d like, but maybe Andres hasn’t gotten used to it, yet, the idea of following in Xavi’s footsteps away from Barcelona. “It didn’t ruin Pep, you know,” Andrés can hear Victor’s words over his shoulder “ _You don’t have to compare yourself to Pep anymore. You’re Andres Iniesta. Not Xavi, not Riquelme, not anyone else.”_ It’s a reflex Andres never really got a hold of. “And look at you now, Qatari champion. Look at Victor.”

 

_“Yeah, but—”_

 

Andrés interrupts him before he can speak again. “It’s not easy,” he confesses, voice cracking on the last word. “You know that.” It’s a sadistic hope, wanting others to understand how it feels to be torn in two, the mind and heart wanting two different things

 

The line stays silent for a while, save for Andrés’ heavy breathing.

 

“It’s for the best,” Xavi agrees and Andrés’ heart breaks a fraction more.

 

It’s an echo of what his mind says. _“This is right. It’s right. It’s time.”_ while his heart yells _“I don’t want to go.”_

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Me despido de ti y me voy_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When did all of Julieta Venegas' songs become Andrés Iniesta's unofficial soundtrack? Idk, but don't tell him.
> 
> Also. the song doesn't really fully fit, but I couldn't resist the title. ( [ MTV Unplugged version ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SqOCf3wcjyE))

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Any and all feedback is appreciated. Hit me up on [tumblr](http://kaligaga.tumblr.com/) where we can cry about Xaviniesta and all of these other ~rarepairs~


End file.
